Hiding
by Tyranusfan
Summary: Tag for 5x14 My Bloody Valentine. Missing scene. After the detox, Dean needs to talk to his brother. Rated T, just to be safe.


_Tag for My Bloody Valentine. Missing scene after Dean steps outside. Thanks for geminigrl11 as always for being a speedy and excellent beta. _

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**Hiding**

Dean mostly stayed outside for two days. He even slept in the Impala.

It wasn't that he didn't want to be there for Sam. He did, desperately. It was just that he couldn't stand listening to his kid brother suffering like that. He knew that was a lame excuse, and that he was being weak, but he just...couldn't.

It had been hard before---the first time Sam had been locked in that damned room---but Dean had had the cover of being so angry with him. Looking back, Dean wondered how he could have been so cold. But hindsight was 20-20, and all that garbage.

He'd been too caught up in his own feelings of betrayal and hurt, and while he hated to think about it---even in view of the fight and everything that followed---Sam had probably suffered more than he had to because Dean couldn't get past his own issues. They could have eased into it. They could have weaned him. It was dangerous to go cold turkey even with normal drugs, so who knew what demon blood addiction was like?

Well, who knew _then_. They all knew, now.

Dean couldn't sit and listen this time. Castiel was watching over Sam, making sure nothing went wrong. So far, Sam hadn't had any seizures, telekinetic or otherwise. They'd handcuffed him when he went in but, hopefully, it would prove unnecessary. The look on Sam's face as they'd tied him down had torn Dean up inside, though. The mix of terror and shame, followed by that resigned self-hatred that he'd seen on the kid's face for months. As much as Dean had heard what Sam suffered through, he knew he hadn't seen it all. But he knew Sam didn't deserve it.

He'd tried to get Sam to talk about his first detox, once. After that mess in Ketchum with the wraith. Figured it might do them both some good, clear the air. Sam had stared at him for a few moments, then withdrew in on himself so much that he didn't talk for two days. Message received. Sam didn't want to talk about it. Ever. Dean didn't take offense. Sam took forever to open up on the big things. They would talk about it someday. Dean wouldn't stop asking.

"Go inside and check on Sam," Dean ordered himself quietly, putting voice to the urge. He hadn't been in the house for more than a few minutes or downstairs at all since the second day. He needed to man up and check on his kid brother.

Dean put his hand on the door handle, but didn't move after that. Still.

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Sam had been quiet since a little before dawn. The worst of the hallucinations had ended the night before, leaving him tossing restlessly through the early hours of the morning until he'd finally passed out from exhaustion. With the sun peeking through the ventilator overhead, Castiel figured it would be a good time to go inside and check.

He cautiously unlatched the door, more to keep from startling Sam if he was asleep than out of any fear of being hurt. Sam's abilities were impressive, but they posed little threat to the angel.

Castiel tried not to think of the last time he opened that door while Sam was inside. He had been following his orders, but in hindsight wished he could go back and change his actions that night. Sam was strong, it was very likely he would have survived his detox, and Lucifer would not have been set free. Nor would Sam or Dean have suffered so much personally in the aftermath.

But, as the human phrase went, what was done was done. Castiel could only work to improve the future. Some of that work lay in front of him, now.

Sam was lying on the cot, trying to curl onto his side but held down by the handcuffs. It looked incredibly uncomfortable. Castiel frowned, considered how far along Sam was in his recovery, and opened the cuffs with a wave of his hand.

The sound startled Sam. His eyes snapped open, darting down to look at his now free hands. He rolled slightly, looking over his shoulder, eyes taking a moment to focus on Castiel.

"What are you doing?" Sam rasped.

"The worst seems to be over," Castiel replied quietly, putting what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face. "You can come upstairs."

Sam paled at that, an impressive feat given his already washed out complexion. Without a word, he rolled back and wrapped his arms around his midsection. Castiel frowned, wondering if he had the facial expression wrong. Sam didn't seem reassured at all.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, stepping around where he could see Sam's face. "Perhaps you should eat. From the smells, I believe Bobby is making breakfast."

The boy didn't respond. Castiel cocked his head. Had he misdiagnosed Sam's condition? He appeared to be free of the blood's influence. The angel tried a new tactic. "You are dehydrated. These first few hours are crucial for a fast recovery. You need fluids, and---"

"Cas," Sam interrupted. He sounded worse than before. "I d-don't want to be rude, but…I kinda want to be a-alone right now."

Castiel considered that for a moment. It was possible that Sam was simply fatigued. His ordeal _had_ been difficult, from the sound of it. Still, something seemed out of place. "Are you in pain?"

There could be complications. Tainted blood had sometimes unpredictable effects on humans. No two instances were exactly the same. Sam could be having a worse reaction outside of the more obvious symptoms.

"Why do you care?" Sam hissed, barely lifting his head. Castiel was startled, but noticed that the apparently angry reaction was followed by a distinct sob when Sam turned his face into the pillow. Castiel knew that Sam, like his brother, tended to lash out when he was hurt. He decided not to take offense and answered honestly.

"I am concerned. It...is difficult to watch a friend suffer."

That got a wet chortle in response. Sam didn't look up. "I'm not a very good friend to have."

_Ah, he is merely embarrassed by his relapse_, Castiel realized. "You had no control over the situation, Sam. A Horseman's power is immense. Even I was not able to keep Jimmy from succumbing to it."

His words got no immediate reaction. Castiel frowned. Sam finally stirred a little, turning his face out of the pillow, but only slightly. His gaze was faraway.

"I just want to be alone, o-okay?"

Castiel sighed softly, frustrated. He had watched Dean and Sam for quite some time now, seen how they could use words to lighten moods and ease negative feelings. Clearly, the angel needed more practice.

And someone Sam would listen to.

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Dean forced himself to leave the car and head into the house just as the sun was coming up over the fence behind Bobby's lot. He'd dodged long enough, and frankly, his stomach was growling so loud he was certain it could be heard inside, anyway.

He climbed the steps up and stepped through the door into Bobby's kitchen.

"I was wondering when you'd come in," Bobby said quietly. "Castiel's looking for you."

"Is Sam all right?" Dean asked, sudden alarm gripping his brain like an ice-cold clamp.

Castiel appeared at the door, between blinks as he usually did. "He's recovering. Physically, at least."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, turning to the grim angel.

"He…won't come out of the panic room. Said he wanted to be alone. I tried to convince him that he needed sustenance, but…."

Dean couldn't help but smirk. He'd been in Castiel's shoes more times than he could remember. "Yeah. He can be hardheaded."

"Gee, sounds familiar." Bobby intoned sourly, placing a plate of toast on the table. Dean frowned at him, then started for the door.

"I'll go talk to him." Dean squeezed past Castiel on his way out. "Hey, Cas…thanks."

The angel looked at him, expression as dour as ever. "He really should eat."

Dean smiled faintly. "I'll see what I can do."

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When Dean got to the bottom of the stairs, he found the door to the panic room standing open. For a brief moment, he felt a surge of hope. Maybe Sam had come out on his own. Cas had said he was getting better. He dismissed the thought almost immediately. Sam couldn't have gone upstairs without Bobby or Cas seeing him, and there was no other way out.

Stepping through the door, any hopes he might have entertained crashed. Sam was still inside, sitting against the wall near the small table they'd left the water pitcher on. His knees were practically under his chin, and he absently picked at a loose string on his jeans.

The kid looked beyond miserable.

Putting on a face that was halfway between pleasant and neutral, Dean strolled over and plopped down beside Sam with a thud. He couldn't help crinkling his nose a little. Sam definitely needed a shower. Maybe two.

"Hey."

Sam didn't take his eyes off the little strand of fabric he was pulling at. His reply was barely audible. "Hey."

"Cas says you're okay to get out of here."

Nothing.

"Bobby's cooking up there. Pancakes. Bacon. Toast…."

"Not hungry." Quiet again. Whispering like he didn't want to be heard.

They sat silently for a few minutes. Sam didn't even look his way. Dean forced a smile. "Cas and Bobby were worried about you. I told 'em you just like attention."

The joke went over like gangbusters. If gangbusters meant total silence and lack of reaction. Dean sobered. "You…look tired, Sammy."

Sam's eyebrows raised fractionally, as if he was realizing something for the first time. "I am."

"Maybe you should sleep. I mean, might make you feel better…."

"Can't."

Dean frowned. "How come?"

"I dream when I sleep," Sam said softly. He turned his head slightly, cutting his eyes in the general direction of Dean's boots. "I hate my dreams."

Nodding slowly, Dean shrugged. "I know how that feels."

Silence fell over them again. Dean pulled his legs up, unconsciously mimicking Sam's posture. He rubbed his hands together, fidgeting. When he couldn't stay quiet any longer he gestured toward the door. "You really should eat. You need to keep your strength up."

That got a reaction. Sam curled in on himself, pulling his legs closer like he was trying to hide behind them. "I…don't want to see anybody right now."

Dean heard the subtext loud and clear. _I don't want anybody to see _me_ right now_.

He started to tell Sam that they were all worried about him, but Sam turned his head, looking at Dean as though he was just taking notice of him. "You don't--- You don't have to pretend. Just say what you came here to say."

Frowning, Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again, honestly confused. "What did I come here to say?"

Sam snorted softly, shaking his head like it should be obvious. "You're disappointed."

Dean just blinked. "I am?"

"You trusted me again, and I let you down. I went for it the first chance I got."

The "it" was clear enough. Demon blood. The rest, though, was crap and Dean said so. "That's not true, Sammy."

Sam shook his head, disagreement written all over his face. Dean sighed, suddenly remembering Bobby's crack about hardheadedness. _Of all the Winchester traits to inherit_…. He decided to try a different tack.

"Actually, I thought I should apologize to you."

That definitely got a reaction. Sam looked over at him sharply, and Dean noted how utterly exhausted his kid brother looked. "For what?"

Dean gestured uselessly with his hands. "For leaving you alone like that. Defenseless."

Sam opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Dean waved him off. "I knew Famine had zapped you. I knew demons were in town. I should have buried you up to your neck in salt before ever setting foot out of that motel room. Or put a damned devil's trap on the door. That was so stupid!"

"I didn't think about any of that, either. You couldn't have known what would happen," Sam objected, predictably.

"Yeah, I could have. I'm slipping, dude." Dean said sullenly, watching his sibling.

Sam shook his head, looking away, then back. Despite his exhaustion, he was obviously getting riled up. Under normal circumstances, Sam would be on his feet, pacing and yelling by this point. "You are _not_, Dean…."

Dean fed the fire. "I am, man. This was all my fault."

"It was not---"

"It totally was, man."

Sam hissed in frustration. "Dean, it wasn't your fault."

"Well, if it wasn't _my_ fault," Dean raised his voice, escalating the argument. "And it obviously wasn't _yours_, then who's was it?"

"Famine's, damn it!" Sam yelled back, though at only a fraction of his healthy volume. Dean favored him with a smirk.

"Now, that's better. I'm glad we agree on something."

Sam stared at him for a moment, mouth moving in helpless aggravation, but then he lowered his head in defeat. He looked even more miserable than when Dean entered. _Okay, maybe proving him wrong wasn't the best thing to do just now_….

Dean reached over, took Sam's chin and raised his face back up. "I'll tell you one thing, though, bro. It's not falling off the wagon if you're _pushed_. You couldn't have stopped yourself. Hell, Cas couldn't even stop himself, and he's an _angel_."

Sam looked on the verge of tears, another sign of his fatigue. "I--- I'm sorry, Dean."

"You don't need to be," Dean shook his head. "I'm _proud_ of you, Sammy."

More confusion. "_Why?_"

Dean smiled slightly. "You saved my ass…again. And Cas'. And that Horseman offered you six demons on a platter, all you had to do was drink up, but you _didn't_. You said no when it would have been perfectly understandable for you to say yes. If I hadn't already figured out that you're one of the strongest people I know, then that would have proved it to me."

Sam took that in, silently, but he didn't withdraw again. Dean took that as progress. He frowned. "And…I should have told you that earlier."

His brother didn't reply, just raised his eyes and looked around. "I really hate this room."

Dean nodded. "Me too, man."

That sat in silence for a while, Dean's shoulder resting against Sam's. A reminder for both of them that they weren't alone. After a few minutes, Dean nudged Sam's shoulder. "You really need to eat. I don't want you to get sick."

Sam paused, but then nodded sullenly. It was clearly then last thing he wanted to do. Dean patted his knee. "Let me help you up."

It took two tries, but he got Sam to his feet. Wobbly, but upright. Dean took a moment to steady him. "I'm glad you're okay, Sam."

"Thanks," Sam replied, eyes not lingering on Dean's longer than a few blinks. He was still embarrassed, it seemed.

"Come on," Dean said, moving to support Sam's weight over his shoulder. When they got their first few, tentative steps toward the door, he sniffed the air.

"And, Sam, from the bottom of my heart…you truly stink."

Sam sighed a weary, long-suffering sigh. "Shut up."

END


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